Thou Blossom Bright With Autumn Dew, And

I Hear The Howl Of The Wind That Brings The Long Drear Storm On Its Heavy Wings.

The Sweet Calm Sunshine Of October, Now Warms The Low Spot; Upon Its Grassy Mold The Pur0ple Oak-leaf Falls; The Birchen Bough Drops Its Bright Spoil Like Arrow-heads Of Gold.

Still Sweet With Blossoms Is The Year's Fresh Prime.

Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste.

That Make The Meadows Green; And, Poured Round All, Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste,-- Are But The Solemn Decorations All Of The Great Tomb Of Man.